


so hot i need a fan

by theinvisibledisaster



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - K-pop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Puns, Crackfic!!, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, The Author Regrets Everything, Total Nonsense, Utter ridiculousness, also some kind of k-pop hunger games, excessive denial, i'm reiterating now that this is entirely CRACK, jasper is here of course there are bad puns, losers get eaten, winners get......... not eaten i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-04-24 02:53:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19164343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisibledisaster/pseuds/theinvisibledisaster
Summary: When her best friend suggested that they start a K-Pop group, Clarke thought he was legitimately insane. They were sitting on the couch in her apartment, Trainspotting was playing in the background, and she was trying to work her way through the remains of her birthday cake when he’d sprung it on her. For a full minute, she just stared at him in surprise.“Uh… not to point out the obvious, but I’m not Korean.” She said, around her mouthful of cake.“I am.” He said, pointlessly. She swallowed her food and rounded on him.“Wow, I’d never noticed, you should have said something!” She gasped, and he elbowed her.“Shut up, I’m just saying, the minimum requirement for a K-Pop group is that a Korean person is involved, so we meet that criteria.”or, the Bellarke K-Pop crack!fic I wrote for a friend's birthday





	so hot i need a fan

**Author's Note:**

> "au where bellarke are kpop idols and the 100 is a kpop elimination show to the death and obama's there in a weird dream sequence that foretells our world. Also, it’s kinky. love you talis, suck a dick, xoxo gossip girl"
> 
> ............your wish is my command, babe. Happy Birthday, sorry it's late <3
> 
> The title comes from BOOMBAYAH by BLACKPINK because of course it does.
> 
> there's a small OC in this, the lead singer of the band the Blakes are in, but it doesn't have any relevance to the story, and also this fic is total nonsense so let's not pretend i was trying to go for consistency here.
> 
> Let's assume this takes place forty years in the future in a parallel world, when the only way to determine the survival of the human race is the K-Pop Hunger Games................ listen, this is a crack!fic, it doesn't need to make sense

_Here I come kick in the door, uh_  
_가장 독한 걸로 줘 uh_  
_뻔하디 뻔한 그 love (love)_  
_더 내놔봐 give me some more_  
_알아서 매달려 벼랑 끝에_  
_한마디면 또 like 헤벌레 해_  
_그 따뜻한 떨림이 새빨간 설렘이_  
_마치 heaven 같겠지만_  
_You might not get in it  
_ **BLACKPINK - Kill This Love**

* * *

 

 

When her best friend proposed to her that they start a K-Pop group, Clarke thought he was legitimately insane. They were sitting on the couch in her apartment, Trainspotting was playing in the background, and she was trying to work her way through the remains of her birthday cake when he’d sprung it on her. For a full minute, she just stared at him in surprise.

“Uh… not to point out the obvious, but I’m not Korean.” She said, around her mouthful of cake.

“I am.” He said, pointlessly. She swallowed her food and rounded on him.

“Wow, I’d never noticed, you should have said something!” She gasped, and he elbowed her.

“Shut up, I’m just saying, the minimum requirement for a K-Pop group is that a Korean person is involved, so we meet that criteria.”

Clarke made a face. “I’m pretty sure that’s not the only requirement, Monty.”

“Ye of little faith. All we is need good singers, good rappers, and people who can dance, that’s not too bad.” He said, and it struck her that this wasn’t just her best friend throwing out ideas while high, but a legitimate suggestion he’d been sitting on for a while. Her heart sunk slightly as she realised she couldn’t just joke her way out of this.

“In Korean.” She pointed out.

“You don’t need to _dance_ in Korean.” He deadpanned.

“Well, I’m about to cry in bisexual,” she snarked right back. He snorted, but the serious look hadn’t left his eye, so she sighed and crossed her legs up on the couch. “Okay, I can speak Korean, you can speak Korean, but I’m white and blonde, and also K-Pop groups need, like, _minimum_ four members, and multi-gendered groups almost never work. So, just to clarify, this is something you _actually want to do?”_

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and passed it over – it was a flyer for The Big Competition – the kind of flyer she tried to avoid.

 

 

#  **THE 100**

100 K-POP GROUPS GO HEAD TO HEAD  
IN A MULTI-TIERED COMPETITION  
SPANNING THE COURSE OF A WEEK,  
UNTIL ONLY THE WINNERS ARE LEFT STANDING. 

 **REQUIREMENTS:**  
MINIMUM FOUR MEMBERS TO A GROUP  
BLATANT DISREGARD FOR YOUR OWN LIFE AND THE LIVES OF YOUR TEAM MEMBERS  
AT LEAST ONE MEMBER OF KOREAN DESCENT

 

“You want to become a K-Pop group _because_ of The 100? That’s insane. Do you have any idea how many people enter and die?”

“Yeah, but we’ll be better than those groups, it’ll be a breeze.” He said hurriedly. “And besides, ever since the incident in Switzerland a few cycles ago, the competition is really running low on entries. It’s basically entirely relying on the lottery now, and the judges have been getting hungry. They might start eating citizens again soon.”

“So you want me to potentially sacrifice myself and a few of our friends for the greater good of the rest of the planet?” She asked. He nodded slowly and she balled the flyer up and tossed it back in his face. “Why didn’t you _open_ with that, of _course_ I’m in.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They didn’t so much audition for members as they did accost their friends two days later at the bar.

Murphy immediately slammed his face down against the table whilst Jasper and Harper just sort of… grimaced encouragingly.

In the end, Wells spoke first. “Uh… no.”

“Oh come on, it’ll be great, I believe in us!” Monty said.

“I mean, yay positivity, but that’s also not what I meant. I completely destroyed my knee last month, there’s no way it’s gonna hold up against dancing when it’s barely healed. I want to help, I do, but if I’m in your group, we’re as good as dead.”

Monty huffed. “Fine, you can be our manager, and you can help Clarke write the tracks. I _know_ you can play guitar Wells, don’t fuck with me.”

Wells looked like he wanted to protest, but Clarke levelled one of her murderous stares at him and he nodded instead, adopting a reluctant half-smile.

Jasper and Harper also agreed, because they loved Monty and they’d do anything for him without question, and then it was only Murphy who hadn’t responded, largely because his nose was still pressed into the table and he didn’t look like he was planning to emerge any time soon.

“So we’re all in, right?” Clarke said, kicking Murphy’s ankle. _“Right?”_

He made a grunt of acquiescence and that was close enough for her.

“Great!” Monty beamed. “We’ve got just under a year to get good. So like I said, Clarke and Wells can write the songs, Harper and I can choreograph the dances, I know you and Jasper can rap, Murphy, so you two can start working on something like that and we’ll meet up in two days in Clarke’s garage to practice.”

“I’m sorry, why _my_ garage?”

“Because you live closest.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too,” he grinned, and then he launched into an explanation of the kinds of songs he thought they should do. For the first time all of them seemed fully engaged, suggesting ideas and vetoing things they refused to do, and Clarke had the fleeting idea that perhaps this might just work.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Their first rehearsal went pretty well.

As did the second.

And the third.

Clarke was beginning to actually feel excited at the prospect of entering The 100, which is not something she ever thought she’d feel.

The thing was, the competition was compulsory for everyone in Korea, like the Hunger Games, although it came around every four years like the Olympics, and if there weren’t enough groups entered, then a random lottery went out. If your name came out, you were assigned to three other people from the lottery and the process continued until there were enough groups to make up the numbers. Anyone who didn’t make it to the finals was eaten, and those in the finals who didn’t win were simply re-entered the following cycle. If they got to the finals in the second cycle, they were considered de facto winners and allowed to walk away. It was an interesting system, but it was flawed.

A few decades ago, the Korean population was starting to dip, so at some point, the committee of judges decided they had to branch out and started randomly tossing citizens from other countries into the lottery as well.

A few cycles ago, eight citizens from Switzerland refused to participate, so the judges went over there and ate the entire population of Zurich. There hadn’t been any arguments since.

Clarke figured it was better to have a team prepared and give it their best shot than to be randomly selected and end up in a team of people who couldn’t sing or dance or speak Korean. At least if they all died this way, they’d die together, and with some sense of rhythm.

It was at the end of the fourth rehearsal, when they were all collapsed on the floor of Clarke’s garage, panting while the backing tracks played from Jasper’s boombox in the corner, that Monty finally brought up their lack of a name.

“I mean, it’s gotta be something good. I’m not letting them assign us one, the judges always pick terrible names.” He mumbled.

Harper nodded, scrunching up her nose in distaste. “I’m pretty sure one of them is super into Keats, cause he keeps naming groups after his poems.”

“Gross.” Murphy said, milder than usual due to the lack of oxygen in his lungs.

Wells was the only one of them not drenched in sweat, but he wasn’t exactly getting off easy, squinting down at the notebook in front of him and trying to write a melody for the lyrics Clarke had given him. They already had ideas for the standard three songs, but they weren’t risking anything – they needed a few more in their back pocket in case they needed to pull something out. All he contributed to the discussion was, “Don’t diss Keats.”

“Fuck you, Jaha,” Murphy grunted, slightly more audibly than earlier.

“Anyone got any suggestions?” Monty rolled over until he was lying on his front on the cold floor and Clarke imagined she could see steam rising from the pool of sweat he’d left next to him.

“Whitest Koreans Of All Time?” Clarke said, before jerking away from Monty’s blind punch to her leg, laughing breathily.

“Please Don’t Eat Us, Oh Mighty Judges?” Harper suggested, prompting a defeated groan from Monty.

For a moment they all just sat there, regaining their breaths and trying to commit the choreography they’d just spent five hours rehearsing to memory. Then, Jasper sat up like a shot.

_“BDE.”_

Their heads all whipped around to face him.

“BDE?” Harper asked sceptically.

“Yep.” He grinned. _“Big Delinquent Energy.”_

Slowly, smiles crept over all of their faces. Monty clapped him on the shoulder. “BDE it is.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first day of the competition arrived frustratingly on time, as time had no investment in whether they were ready or not, and so made no exceptions for them, or anyone else.

Luckily, Clarke was pretty sure they were ready.

The year had passed far too fast, but at least they were confident in their talent; they’d even won a few minor competitions (the kinds that don’t involve getting eaten if you lose) and released a single or two, so they had a bit of a cult following.

They weren’t the only ones, however – there was a team that had kept pretty level with their success the entire year, and it was really starting to get on Clarke’s nerves.

B-Warriors were another group with only one Korean member. The child of one of the original winners of The 100, she went by the name Bad Billie, and Clarke refused to call her that on principle, referring to her as BB instead, just to annoy her. The other members of the group were Ilian, a cheerful guy nicknamed The Butterfly, Octavia Blake, and her older brother Bellamy.

She didn’t like BB much, but if she was honest with herself, it was Bellamy she had the real problem with. Over the last six months she’d seen him practically once a week and he never got more appealing to her. Sure, he was _insanely_ attractive, but that didn’t make up for his personality. The very first time they’d met was at a competition where he started an argument by flippantly calling her “Princess” in front of her fans, and now that was her permanent nickname on all the forums and people yelled it at her in the street. She wanted to murder him for that, but she was at least thankful that she didn’t have to see him again after that night.

Then the B-Warriors were at the next competition. And the next. Then, naturally Jasper – bastard – had to go and make friends with Octavia, and then the rest of the group decided that Bellamy was just wonderful, so now the Blakes came to her flat ever Saturday for dinner.

Bellamy got on perfectly well with the others, but constantly got on Clarke’s nerves, always calling her _Princess_ and offering to _help her cook_ and being _polite._

The audacity.

The night before they were supposed to arrive at The 100, they were all meeting for drinks at their favourite bar, including the Blakes, which Clarke was only a little bit resentful of. She arrived first and snagged their usual booth, paying for a round of shots ahead of time and ordering a mojito for herself.

“I think the real reason you hate the B-Warriors is because you have an Eiffel-tower sized boner for Bellamy,” Murphy said as he slid into the booth beside her.

“Wow, Murphy, I’m doing great, how was _your_ day?” She threw back the last of her drink.

“Alright. I jacked a few cars, sold them for parts, talked to Bellamy about your obsession with his arms, chatted up the barista at that coffee shop we like, you know, the usual.”

“Fuck off, I do not have an _obsession_ with Bellamy’s arms.”

“You’re right.” He said placatingly, patting her arm. “Actually, when I brought it up to Blake, I think I called it a _kink–”_

He was cut off when she balled up her napkin and tossed it in his face. Just in time too, cause the next people to arrive were Bellamy and Octavia.

“Hey Princess, how’s it going?” Bellamy asked as he approached.

“Empty,” was all she responded with, staring into the bottom of her glass at the dregs of mint leaves left in it.

The younger Blake always made a point to sit as far away from Murphy as possible at any given time, so it was Bellamy that ended up slotting in on Clarke’s other side. Which she was _definitely_ not happy about. She was certainly not enjoying the way he pressed up against her, closer than he needed to be considering the rest of the booth was still empty.

She could practically _feel_ the way Murphy was smirking at her, and she stomped on his foot under the table. He winced, but when she glanced his way, he was still wearing that shit-eating grin. Which only grew wider when a mojito was delivered to the table by a cheerful barman.

She eyed it suspiciously. “Uh…?”

“It’s for you, Princess,” Bellamy said, a note of fond exasperation in his voice.

“If you’re trying to get into my pants, Blake, there are easier ways,” she quipped, taking a long sip.

“Feel free to share, cause I’ve been trying for six months now.” He said, and she choked on her drink.

Unfortunately – or rather, fortunately, because she was bound to fuck it up – she didn’t get a chance to ask him what he meant, because Monty was shuffling into the bar, Jasper, Harper and Wells trailing behind him. She plastered a smile on her face and reached her hands out for Monty and Wells to slap.

They did so enthusiastically, Monty only looking mildly put out that he couldn’t sit next to Clarke like he usually would, and Wells openly grinning between her and Bellamy like the cat who got the cream. Jasper and Harper shuffled in next, Harper resting her head on Monty’s shoulder, and Jasper practically facing his back to them so he could haphazardly flirt with one of the girls collecting glasses from a nearby table.

“So, Bellamy,” Monty started, only barely concealing his laugh when Clarke shot him a dirty look, “think you’re ready for tomorrow?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” he said, shrugging. “As long as we get to the finals, we don’t get eaten, so I’d say that’s enough for us.”

“But then you have to do it all again next cycle,” Clarke pointed out.

He glanced sidelong at her, “Would that really be so bad, Princess? We’ve already made half a career out of it this year, imagine what we could do in four years time, when we’ve toured a bit and we can get more public exposure out of it.”

“Which ‘we’ are you talking about there, Blake?” Murphy asked over her shoulder, and it was only then that she caught herself leaning closer to Bellamy while he spoke. She sat back a little, shaking her head and trying to pretend she’d imagined the look of disappointment on his face when she pulled away.

Because the thing was, she didn’t _really_ hate Bellamy.

She hated him because she didn’t _want_ to care about him – she wanted to go into the competition with no weaknesses except the four other people on her team, and if she was worried about Bellamy dying, it would throw her off, she knew it would. So she pushed it down and sniped back at him and acted like every time he looked at her or reached past her to grab something, she wasn’t internally screaming.

To his credit, Murphy didn’t actually push the issue any further, just announced, “SHOTS!” loudly and bounded towards the bar to grab a few trays.

Clarke sighed and settled more comfortably into her seat, waving off Monty’s concerned eyes.

It was going to be a long night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was about 3am and they needed to be at the halls at about 4pm the next day, so if she wanted to get any kind of sleep or to even _start_ to get over her hangover, she really needed to get home sometime soon.

Unfortunately, the seven mojitos and multiple shots she’d been putting away over the course of the night were really inhibiting any intelligent thought she had.

Jasper was serenading the man behind the bar with an old EXO song, Murphy was smoking out the back, and Octavia and Harper were leaning against the jukebox replaying “Loveshot” over and over and kicking away anyone who tried to come and pick a song. Monty and Wells were the only two still sitting in the booth with her and Bellamy, which really wasn’t helping, because they both kept breaking into fits of giggles and gesturing wildly between them.

The exact opposite of subtlety.

It especially didn’t help that they were talking turns telling embarrassing stories about her.

“And when she was ten,” Monty said, “she did a handstand in the garden and fell down and broke her wrist. She made me swear not to tell anyone, but the second I saw her Mom I burst into tears. I was so upset she thought _I_   was the injured one.”

Wells hiccoughed, tears of laughter leaking down his cheeks. “That’s nothing, remember the time she came out to us?”

“Oh god.” She hid her face in Bellamy’s shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah, yeah, she told us she was bisexual but that was okay, because she wasn’t interested in us that way.” Monty snorted. “She really assumed that lesbian was the default, and that the only reason we’d been friends with her all that time is because we thought she liked girls.”

“You guys are mean,” she grumbled, pouting, which didn’t convey her feelings at all, because she was still buried in Bellamy’s shirt.

He chuckled and lifted his arm around her, holding her closer. “Don’t worry, Princess, I think it’s cute.”

“You would.” She snapped, trying to inject more venom into it. Unfortunately, it came off as rather soft and fond, and she felt him tuck his chin over her head. She should not have had that seventh mojito. Or the twelfth shot. She snuggled closer.

“When are you going to tell her?” Wells asked, a seriousness to his voice that hadn’t been there for a few hours.

Bellamy made a noise of protest. “If we live.”

“That’s not a when.”

“Alright, _when_ we all live, then I’ll tell her.” He said, and it struck Clarke that they all thought she was asleep, or at least too hammered to remember this conversation when she woke up the next morning. Well, joke was on them, because she never forgot things from when she was drunk, and she wasn’t likely to fall asleep anytime soon, she just liked the excuse to cuddle up to Bellamy. Not that sober Clarke would admit that at all.

“Listen, we all love you,” Monty said, ever the patient one, “but if you don’t tell Clarke before you die, you’ll regret it.”

“I won’t have time for regrets, I’ll be too busy being dead.”

Clarke couldn’t see, but Wells definitely just rolled his eyes.

She decided that was probably the opportune moment to move, so she shuffled a little until her chin was propped against him and blinked up lazily. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He hummed. “I think it’s time we get you home, huh Princess?”

She complained at him manhandling her out of the booth, but she didn’t really care and he knew it, and when they got outside, she let him curl an arm around her shoulder.

She tried to reason with herself that it was only for warmth.

_Sure, Jan._

 

 

* * *

 

 

When she woke up, she was in her own bed, tucked in, and there was a glass of water on her bedside table, alongside two pills and a croissant.

Bellamy Blake was the fucking _worst._

He’d already left to meet up with his team, which she found out when she walked into her kitchen and her friends were all sitting there eating breakfast.

“Uhm.” She could really manage anything else, the aspirin not having kicked in yet.

Wells glanced over disapprovingly. “You’re so lucky you don’t have to perform until tomorrow.”

“Please, we all got just as drunk,” Monty complained, rubbing his temples and looking thoroughly sorry for himself.

“I’m feeling pretty black and pink myself,” Jasper groaned from his place on the couch. They all frowned over at him, confused, and he scrunched up his nose. “Y’know, like BLACKPINK, but with black and blue… you know what, forget it, puns are harder when you’re hungover, okay?”

“Why are you all in my apartment?” She mumbled, gratefully taking the coffee Harper passed her.

“Bellamy let us in when left,” Wells and Monty shared a smug look, “and he told us to tell you he couldn’t wait to see you at the competition.”

Clarke closed her eyes and let the caffeine work its way through her veins, and decided she was just going to sidestep that comment altogether. “No, I mean, why are you all _here_ in the first place?”

“Oh, we decided we would get them to pick us up from here, instead of meeting later.”

Monty shrugged. “Plus they wanted some behind the scenes–”

“–BTS!”

“Fuck off Jasper, uh, yeah, they wanted some behind the scenes footage of us getting ready to get in the bus and travel to the arena.”

“That sounds dull.” She pointed out.

“Which is why I’m going to breakdance the entire time.” Jasper winked.

“While you’re getting dressed?” Murphy made a face.

His face fell for barely a second before he was grinning again, “I can do it. I’ll just make sure to breakdance gently.”

“How does one _gently_ breakdance?” Wells asked.

“With a great deal of style,” he said, half-heartedly doing the robot while lying down.

“I regret asking,” Wells and Murphy said at the same time.

“Me too, and I didn’t even ask.” Clarke finished off her coffee and shook her head, excitement slowly starting to kick in, making her veins buzz. Although that could have been the caffeine. Or the fear of dying. It was definitely one of the three.

Or possibly the idea that Bellamy wanted to see her later.

Goddammit, she really didn’t have time to think about him right now, she had to start getting ready! She dragged Harper into the bathroom so they were both at least semi-presentable for when the camera crews arrived, and they were midway through picking out travel outfits when they heard their backing track turn on in the living room.

They emerged, half-dressed, to find the boys practicing the freestyle parts of the choreography while Wells adjusted the track slightly. It was just like them to want to tweak things at the last minute, but Clarke wasn’t complaining – if they wanted to win, or at least not die, they had to be good.

Monty was halfway through singing the third verse when there was a knock at the door, and then there were cameras and producers and irritated looking PAs running around trying to get everything looking good before they bundled them into the bus and they were on their way.

Much to the chagrin of absolutely everybody, Jasper danced the whole time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Their first night in the Arena was pretty uneventful. There was no alcohol allowed on the premises, although she definitely saw one or two people from rival groups sneaking sips from flasks.

The only thing they could really do was meet the other teams, which, as a rabidly unsocial person, Clarke did not want to do. She had her circle of friends thank you very much.

The only person she wanted to see – the one she kept trying to convince herself that she _didn’t_ want to see – was nowhere to be seen.

All day was spent rehearsing, making sure they nailed every twist and drop and lyric and note until they were sure they were ready.

“Well, as ready as we’ll ever be,” Monty said cheerfully as he waved them all away for the night.

Clarke collapsed on her bed, and when she woke up the next morning, the first thing she did – although she’d never admit it to anyone – was go looking for Bellamy.

However, despite wandering around for over an hour, she didn’t see him at all, and then they were all getting called in for the first round of the competition itself. She’d lost her chance; once the rounds started, all the teams were kept in separate hallways to each other, presumably so people didn’t get too upset when their teammates didn’t make it to dinner due to having been eaten.

In their groups, they were led to viewing rooms, where they could watch the stage without interacting with the others, and Clarke sat down between Monty and Wells apprehensively, squeezing their knees briefly to ground herself.

They bumped shoulders with her in response, but none of them spoke. They were too nervous.

Except Jasper, obviously, who made it his mission to commentate and to try and squeeze in as many ham-fisted K-Pop puns as possible during every act.

“I haven’t seven- _teen_  that much talent in a while.”

“I have an _EXO_ to grind with that guy.”

“Ooh, these guys are good! They might be the Mama _moo_ group to beat.”

“We could beat these guys _TWICE_ over.”

 _"EXO_ marks the spot!"

At one point, someone fell off the stage and Jasper excitedly yelled, “I hope he didn’t break his SHIN-ee.” To which everyone responded with a chorus of boos and showers of popcorn.

The B-Warriors were the forty-eighth group up, and Clarke found herself unconsciously sitting forward, anxiously bouncing her leg while she watched them perform. She was so nervous she couldn’t even enjoy it, flinching at every slightly out of sync movement or dud note. She was internally pleased to note that both the Blakes seemed to be nailing every step, but that didn’t make her any less scared for their fate.

However, at the end of their performance, the crowd erupted into violent applause and she knew they would at least make it to the next day.

She took a breath.

They were the hundredth group up, so they had over half of the groups to go before they were set to perform, but they were all interesting, even the ones that were abject failures. It was funny, until they remembered what the fate of those who didn’t score well was. When one group, AZGEDA-kru bombed so hard the crowd actually started booing, the judges didn’t wait for the curtain to be lowered before they started devouring them. It was rough.

Finally, the ninety-ninth group took to the stage.

Wells hugged them all before they left to head backstage, squeezing Clarke tightest of all, and she made sure to hold Monty’s hand all the way down.

They were led into the wings, and they could see the group performing, their movements perfectly in sync and their hair whipping veraciously.

Fuck.

She felt fingers curl around her free hand, and when she looked to her left, she was almost surprised to find Murphy standing there. He scowled at her. “Fuck off, Griffin, you know I love you.”

Then Harper was running on stage, singing as she skidded deliberately to a halt right in the centre of the stage and Jasper slid in behind her from the other side. Monty dropped Clarke’s hand so he could duck through the curtain and make it appear as if he’d sprung from nowhere. So far it was going pretty well.

Murphy squeezed her fingers and the two of them stepped out together, her backing up with her hand to his chest while he sang at her. Their whole bit for this song was him coming onto her and her rejecting him, and they had a whole duet to go with it, while Monty and Jasper’s verses were about fighting over Harper. The song ended with Clarke and Harper choosing each other instead, ripping off their tearaway shirts to reveal their glitter bodysuits and posing while the boys dropped to the floor behind them.

It was a _great_ song with an _awesome_ dance routine, if they did say so themselves, and it seemed the crowd agreed, half of them on their feet and all of them cheering.

When the judges announced they were through to the next round, they ran offstage and tackled each other in hugs the second they were past the curtains.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day was a rest day, and rather than practicing, they spent most of the day curled up in Clarke’s room, all trying to fit together on her bed and watch old movies.

It was a balancing act.

Jasper kept humming the melody of their song for the next night against her ankle and she kept jiggling it slightly so he fell off the edge of the bed. Monty had Harper on his lap so that she didn’t slide off the side, which neither of them were complaining about because it meant they could nuzzle faces whenever they wanted.

Clarke hated it when they did that because it was _gross,_ and _adorable,_ and definitely not because she wished Bellamy was here so she could do it with him.

It was a slow, lazy day, and she loved it because even if they were dying tomorrow, she was spending it with all her favourite people.

Minus one.

She was really bad at not thinking about Bellamy, which was annoying, because the whole point of not making a move in case they died was so that she _didn’t_ worry about him. Yet here she was. She supposed that was why Monty and Wells were lecturing him in the bar too.

She sighed and snuggled closer to her friends, absorbing the cheerful smiles and the way Murphy kept finding a way to make every line of The Godfather into an innuendo, completely nonsensically.

She didn’t even notice she’d fallen asleep until she woke up the next morning, still tangled in Delinquents and old movies still playing on the TV. They were up to Some Like It Hot. Fitting.

After shaking the others awake, they all moved down to breakfast and managed to sneak in an hour of rehearsal before they had to move to the viewing rooms again.

There were only 42 groups left, so the day managed to go a lot faster than it had before. The B-Warriors were thirteenth and this time she didn’t even hide the fact that she only had eyes for Bellamy. She openly stared at him while he moved and when they moved onto the semi-finals she whistled loudly while her friends all cheered around her.

When it was time for them to move down to the wings, they moved single-file, linked by their hands, and stayed that way as they moved out onstage, Monty taking the lead this time, with Clarke backing him up.

Today she and Harper were in tight fitting Cabaret-style suits with bowler hats and canes, and the boys were all in light drag, skirts twirling as they danced. They made sure to switch up the dance styles too, so the girls were now doing the more halting, intense movement while the boys slut-dropped and twisted in front of them.

When Harper managed to keep singing her line mid-backflip the crowd went wild, and the noise didn’t stop after they’d landed the final note and froze. In fact, it only grew louder, practically deafening, and this time Murphy swept her up in a hug the second the judges pronounced they would be moving through to the semis.

As they left the stage, she looked up, over the crowd and to the wall of large windows at the back, searching for Bellamy, but she didn’t manage to find him before they were back in the corridor and heading for their rooms.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was no rest day this time, just straight into the semis, which was murder on Clarke’s quads, but she dealt with it.

They warmed up and rehearsed in the morning and then went straight to the viewing room after lunch.

There were only 16 groups left now.

The B-Warriors were the tenth act and Bellamy was the first to appear, stepping out and immediately launching into a ballad. It was a full minute before anyone else even came onstage, and Clarke was vaguely pleased because she knew that must have pissed BB off, relinquishing the spotlight. She had to admit, however, that when she moved up to Bellamy and started dancing with him while the others moved around them, she did feel a pang of jealousy.

In fact, it was more than a pang, which continued right up until Monty said.

“Oh my god. It’s about _you.”_

Her heart stopped.

“Excuse me?!”

He slapped her leg, “Clarke, this song is about you. Guaranteed. I bet he wrote it himself too, talented dick.”

“I bet he _has_ a talented dick,” Jasper added, “and I think you should _get on it immed–”_

“–Monty’s right, listen to the lyrics!” Wells mercifully interrupted. “Waiting to say something before he’s sure you’ll both be okay, loving you anyway, loving you quietly, lo- OHMYGOD DID HE JUST SAY ‘PRINCESS’?!”

“He did.” Harper’s eyes were wide and trained on Clarke, but Clarke couldn’t take hers off Bellamy as he sang about his ‘Princess’ while moving back into formation to dance with the others.

She was going to punch Bellamy Blake in his stupid gorgeous mouth and then she was going to kiss him until he couldn’t breathe and then she was going to yell at him and probably propose or something. It was a moving target, if she was honest.

“He’s the one who started that nickname, he _knows_ the fans call you that now, he’s doing this deliberately to tell you how he feels, in case…” Monty trailed off, looking guilty, but he needn’t have bothered, because the song ended and the judges waved them through to the finals before the crowd was even on their feet. “Wow. I guess they liked it.”

There were tears on her cheeks, but she didn’t care.

“They get to live.” She whispered. “He gets to live. He’s gonna be okay.”

“Fuck yeah,” Murphy grinned. “Now all we have to do is the same thing and then we get to live too, and you can both run into a field of daisies and declare your undying love for each other.”

Someone poked their head around the door saying it was time for BDE to make its way to the stage, which never failed to make Jasper giggle, and within what felt like seconds, they were onstage for their third routine.

They just had to make it through this one not to get eaten. Then they could focus on _winning._

Their routine for the semi-finals had been meticulously planned by Wells, and it was designed to be all of their stories individually, blended together perfectly in sync. They didn’t divide into girls and boys this time, they all started on equal footing and ended on equal footing. They each got a solo singing or rapping about their story, and at one point they formed a rotating pyramid where the second one of them got to the top, they leapt backwards and slotted themselves on the bottom, until every single one of them had been at the top. They ended the song lying on their backs with one foot in the air, matching shoes shining in the lights.

The crowd went wild, so loud that when the judges tried to give their verdict, nobody heard it. When nobody can hear an ancient eldritch creature over the sound, that was probably an indication of approval.

In the end, the judges managed to quiet the crowd down for _just_ long enough to announce that they were through to the finals, and then they erupted again.

They were going to _live._

She was going to kiss Bellamy Blake on his ridiculous mouth, because they were both going to _live,_ and they had spent the last six months pointlessly not kissing each other on their ridiculous mouths and they were _ridiculous_ and they were going to _live._

 

 

* * *

 

 

There were only four teams in the finals and Clarke tried very hard not to think about how many people had to be eaten to get there.

Some years there were as many as ten in the finals – one remarkable cycle had involved thirty groups surviving – but four groups out of a hundred was… more than a little depressing.

So, on their final rest day, Clarke spent most of the time going over her lyrics and double checking her choreography until she was practically blue in the face.

“Bellamy won’t love you if you’re that sweaty when you win,” Murphy snarked from his place in the corner of the gym, tossing grapes up and catching them in his mouth.

“Joke’s on you, he’s already seen me this sweaty and he loves me anyway,” Clarke retorted.

Jasper gasped dramatically. “My ship? It SAILS?!”

“Fuck you, everyone knew, I’m not stupid.”

“Clearly you are.” Wells said patiently. “If you weren’t stupid, you would have jumped his bones the first night you met.”

“I didn’t like him the first night I met.”

“Suuuuuure.” Harper said sarcastically.

Clarke rounded on her, mock distressed. “Traitor! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Monty raised a hand, “Actually that’s my job, and even I think you’re both morons.”

“Wow, thanks guys, I appreciate your support,” she turned the music up. “Just for that, you all get to rehearse the final number with me again, let’s go.”

They all grumbled and got to their feet, but there were smiles on their faces and happiness in the air. They had this. Even if they didn’t win, they had this.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After an EXTREMELY weird dream where some wise old spirit named Obama appeared to give her advice on her back handsprings – and to show her visions of a world parallel to her own but where there were no death matches for K-Pop, only bands, and where eldritch horrors didn’t haunt the world but the legacy of a guy with orange skin and shit hair was still affecting the world years later; she wasn’t sure which world she preferred, if she was honest – she was pretty relieved to wake up.

There was a level of excitement and apprehension in the viewing room that hadn’t been there before, and they watched the first group up, The Lunar Spirals with open interest, acknowledging how good they were and how difficult that would be to beat.

Then the B-Warriors came out.

They second up and they were on FIRE.

Literally, their costumes were designed to catch fire.

It was _stunning._

Clarke was completely captivated, watching them all dart around the stage in complete synchronisation, barely a note out of place.

Then it got worse because in the middle of his solo, Bellamy ripped his flaming shirt off and did the rest of the number shirtless and covered in oil, presumably to protect from the fire but _holy shit was it doing things for him_. Especially his arms. Clarke was basically salivating.

“Still trying to tell me it’s not a kink?” Murphy asked.

She aimed a kick in his direction, refusing to take her eyes from the spectacle. “No comment.”

When they finished, there was no announcement, because there was no being thrown to the judges at the end of this round, only crowning a winner, but the crowd went crazy. They weren’t the only ones; Clarke was on her feet before she even realised she’d jumped, and she was dimly aware that there was a camera on her, broadcasting her reaction to the planet, but she didn’t care because she was ecstatic and her friends were jumping with her and they were all screaming with excitement.

“How are we supposed to beat _fire?”_   Wells asked.

“Don’t worry Jaha, we’ve got a few tricks up our sleeve.” Jasper aggressively waved his arm around, prompting Wells’ patented Worried Face™.

“Uh… do I wanna know?”

“Not at all,” Clarke said, kissing him on the cheek. “We’ll see you when it’s over.”

“Okay.” He said nervously. “But don’t do anything too dangerous. If you die tonight you will make the last year null and void.”

“Yeah, but what a way to go,” Monty quipped, and then they were in the wings.

Clarke was supposed to be the first person out this time, and she took a deep breath, centering herself, and adjusted the long blonde wig she was wearing. Surprisingly, Murphy had been the one to suggest a wig, and they ran with it from there.

She made sure to work it as she stepped out, dancing suggestively across the stage and sliding slowly into the splits. When she hit the ground, she pulled her wig off and tossed it into the crowd, right on the beat, revealing a red wig beneath it, and the crowd cheered and whooped. As the red wig tumbled around her shoulders, her fellow members of BDE came stalking out, moving just as slowly as she did, and each one of them grabbed either an arm or a leg and the four of them lifted her up, still in the splits, and turned her upside down. They let go and she snapped her legs up and stepped down from her handstand just as Jasper leapt in front of her and started rapping in a blend of Korean and English.

So far so good.

When Jasper shot fireworks out of his sleeves – proper, huge ones – it honestly felt like they were walking on air.

Monty pulled a lever and a wall of flowers dropped down behind them.

Harper lifted Murphy over her head, Dirty Dancing style, and the lights dropped down low.

They all fell into line, Jasper and Murphy on one side and Monty and Harper on her right, with Clarke in the middle, and the last line was hers.

Right as she belted the final word, the five of them released the multicoloured smoke bombs up their sleeves, creating a rainbow of colour onstage.

Clarke didn’t even hear the crowd this time.

In fact, she didn’t hear anything until all the teams were gathered onstage with them and she wondered when that had happened. The B-Warriors were on the opposite end to them, which _sucked,_ but she could see Bellamy beaming at her and her friends were gripping her as they awaited the result and no matter what she was happy.

“The winner, of the 149th cycle of The 100, is…”

There was a drumroll.

**_“BDE!”_ **

And then her friends were practically swarming her and the crowds were making so much noise and stomping so hard she though the arena might just collapse in on itself. The judges themselves just nodded, which was _high_ praise from them, and disappeared.

“WE WON!?!?” Jasper screamed.

“We actually did it,” Monty wrapped her in a hug and she gripped him as tight as she could because he was her best friend and they had just won The 100.

When they were hurried back to the quarters in order to maintain some calm before the crowd went _completely_ insane, Clarke tried to catch Bellamy, but he was being led away from her in the opposite direction, and all she managed was a brief brush of her fingers against his knuckles as they reached out to each other.

Rather poetic actually.

Pity she hated poetry.

Almost as much as she hated Bellamy Blake.

Which was to say: rather a lot and not at all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

BDE spent hours getting promotional photos taken and meeting fans from the crowds and giving interviews and by the time night rolled around, they were all exhausted.

Also Clarke hadn’t seen Bellamy.

She refused to dwell on it, but it preyed on the back of her mind all evening, until finally, _finally,_ they were released back to the mess hall, but by that point there was no-one in there except the competition lawyers who made them discuss contracts while they ate some long overdue food.

In fact, it wasn’t until after dinner, when they all split up to go back to their rooms for the night, that she bumped into him.

Or rather, he pinned her against a wall.

Semantics.

Before she could really get her bearings, he leaned in and kissed her, and if she wasn’t so surprised, she probably would have pushed him off out of reflex but once it started she figured she may as well lean into it. Either of them could have died yesterday. Or they both could. Or– wow she really needed to not think about death when his tongue was in her mouth.

He seemed to sense that she was stuck in her own head and slid both his arms around her waist, holding her close to him while he started dropping messy kisses down her neck.

“Hi,” she said to the ceiling, annoyed at how breathless she sounded.

She could feel him smirking against her throat. “Hey. How was the drive?”

“Four hours on a bus with Jasper and Murphy, you know how it is,” she mumbled.

He chuckled into her shoulder and she realised that they were just sort of hugging each other in the hallway near her room. For some reason, this made her hug him tighter, clinging to his shirt and pressing her forehead to his collarbone.

“How was yours?”

“Uneventful,” he said, voice muffled despite being close to her ear, largely because he refused to lift his lips from her skin.

“Mhm. How was the competition?” She teased.

“I mean, we lived, I count that as a win.” He pulled back, just enough to see her, and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

“Yeah, but did you _win?”_   She asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“I’m dating the winner, that counts,” he said, and wow that was _certainly_ rising to the challenge, _holy shit._

She blinked. “Are you now?”

“I was hoping so, yeah, now that we’re not afraid of being eaten.”

“But Monty’s taken, though.”

He groaned, pressing his forehead to hers in mock frustration. “Sorry, I should clarify. I’m dating Jasper.”

“Oh that makes more sense, you two are a match made in heaven.” She deadpanned.

“For god’s sake, just FUCK already!” Murphy yelled from his door, and she realised that her whole group, plus Octavia, was in his room, presumably because it was across from hers and they all knew Bellamy was planning to make a move. She hated them all on principle.

“What, like right here in the hallway?” Clarke replied, already dragging Bellamy’s jacket down his arms. “I mean, if you insist–”

“–Jesus _Christ_ Clarke, your room is _two feet away,”_   Wells complained, clapping his hands over his eyes.

“You’re the ones watching us like creepy Peeping Toms,” she pointed out.

“Okay, fair, but I personally just don’t want to know about your public sex kink,” Monty offered.

She frowned, “That’s bad luck, because a public sense kink is by _definition_ public, so–”

“–you’re the literal worst,” was the last thing he said before he ushered the others inside and closed the door, shooting one last smile towards them before it latched.

The hallway was suddenly empty and silent, and Bellamy laughed into her hair. “Your friends are crazy.”

“You’ll have to get used to it; we’re a package deal,” she hummed, running her hands up and under his shirt, mapping out his muscles under her fingers.

“Yeah, I worked that out, thanks.” He pulled back just enough to start ushering her towards her room. “I won all of them over before I won you over, I think we’re good there.”

“Yeah but you haven’t had to put up with their merciless teasing about our ‘endless sexual tension’ and ‘boners bigger than the Leaning Tower of Pisa’. That last one was Murphy.”

“I guessed.” He smirked. “I’m told you have a bit of a _kink_ for my arms.”

She clapped her hands over her face. “I’m going to _murder_ Murphy.”

“Actually, that one has multiple sources.” He kissed her temple. “Murphy is the only one who tells me about our boners though.”

“Have I mentioned I hate my friends?” She unlocked the door and dragged him inside, walking backwards in the direction of her bed and kicking off her shoes.

“Frequently. We'll make it work. Although,” he teased, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, “if your dick is bigger than mine, we might have a problem.”

“Of course it is, I’m in BDE.”

“Oh. Oh that was _awful.”_ He pushed her down onto the mattress and crawled over her. “Really, just fucking terrible. I don’t think I want to date you anymore, that’s how bad that joke was.”

“Yeah, you seem really,” her breath hitched as he started trailing kisses down her chest, “really put off.”

He shrugged, biting at her stomach gently, “I’ll persevere. I am a _warrior_ after all.”

She snorted and smacked his shoulder. “That was so much worse than mine.”

“Yeah, well,” he grinned up at her. “Get used to it, Princess."

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is complete and total crack!! 
> 
> i wrote it for my friend who is an EXO stan who i made watch The 100 because she made me listen to K-Pop. It's all done in complete fun, there is absolutely zero malicious intent or intent to make fun of or belittle anyone in this fic, and it was written for a wonderfully ridiculous friend of mine. 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this absolute nonsense <3


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